Weary with Sorrow and Love
by lostwithoutablogger
Summary: After Will said goodbye to Lyra in the garden there were things that needed to be done, and stories that needed to be told.


The knife shattered in his hand and he felt as if his heart would soon follow. The tear that Lyra had left on his face was soon washed away by tears of his own. Whichever idiot had said that boys did not cry had clearly never been in love.

He stood, every bone in his body weary with sorrow and love, and took a deep and shaky breath

"Are you alright?" Mary asked, although he could not possibly be.

"No" he replied, "but that can wait. I need to see my mother".

"Well okay then. Let's go back to my apartment first shall we? We can have that cup of tea, and then.." she hesitated. "My flat isn't that far away" she said abruptly. "We can walk".

Will placed his hand on Kirjava's head, and seeming to draw strength from her, nodded.

They started up the road, its dark trees and houses illuminated by the few streetlights that were dotted around. The world felt unreal to Will, as if he was not supposed to be there, as if he were simply a visitor. He didn't even know what time it was.

Mary's flat turned out to be further away than she had made it out to be, but in truth he was greatfull for the walk. Walking, he could close his eyes and he could pretend he was back among the trees and grasses of the Mulefa world, with Lyra by his side, something that would have been impossible had they taken a cab.

Soon, they arrived at the block of flats, their tiny stairwells dimly lit by single bulbs. There was a walk up a flight of stone stairs, a panicked fumbling for the set of keys, a feeling of relief when they were found, and then tea.

The comforting smell of bergamot and honey reached his nose as Mary passed him a mug. "No milk I'm afraid" she said with a small smile. "I guess I'll have to go shopping".

She sat down opposite him at the small wooden table that seem to dominate most of the small kitchen. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair.

"We've a lot to sort out, you and I." she said. "But it's 3 o'clock in the morning, and those things can wait. You need sleep."

She set up the sofa bed, added sheets and a pillow, and gave Will a towel and a toothbrush.

He stood in the shower with the water almost boiling, as if all it took was a hot shower to fuse a heart back together. He didn't want to think about the hundred and one things he had to do the next day. As Mary said, they could wait.

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He woke as the sun streamed through the blinds on the windows behind the couch, and for a moment didn't remember the events of before, but then it all came crashing down upon him, and it was all he could do not to scream with sorrow and pain. Lyra, Lyra, her name echoed in his head with each beat of his heart.

He pushed the tears down, and stood up, scooping his shirt off the floor from where he had left it earlier that morning. He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, trying to avoid the mirror, as, once he caught a glance of his pale face with shadows under his eyes so dark they looked like bruises, he had no desire to look again.

Mary was still asleep, she'd told him she set her alarm for 9am and it was barely 8am, so he went back to the couch, and tided it up, stripping the bed, folding the sheets neatly, and putting the cushions back in their places. This accomplished he sat down and idly paged through a book, desperately tying to divert his mind from thoughts of... anything.

The fridge was empty, so there was no chance of breakfast, so he simply sat and waited for Mary, turning the pages steadily, without really reading what was written on them.

The beeping of Mary's alarm clock sounded and he raised his head from the book as she entered the room. She didn't look much better than he did, the shadows under her eyes were prominent too and her eyes were tired and red.

"Sleep well?" she asked, more out of habit than real curiosity. It would be a while before they both would truly "sleep well".

"Fine" he replied. "thank you" he added as an afterthought, with a small smile. He appreciated her words. Normality was what he needed now.

"Well that's good then." she said, turning to walk out of the room. "I thought we might leave in about 10 minutes. We can eat after we see your mother. I thought you wouldn't want to waste time."

"Yes" Will said. "And Mary?" she stopped and turned, "thank you".

They didn't walk this time, instead they caught a bus, at the expense of Kirjava's nervousness, and so it was less than half an hour later that they stood in front of Mrs Cooper's front door. Mary could tell Will was nervous by now. His breath had quickened and his hand, the one missing two fingers, was clenched tight, they way it would have been had he been holding the knife.

What if she was not there? What if she had been taken away? Wait if she had..? But no, that was too terrible to even consider.

Footsteps echoed from behind the closed door and when they came to a halt, the door opened and there stood his mother. But something was different. No longer did her face bear the confused and dazed expression it had gained so long ago. Now her face was vibrant and full of expression, and Will does not have to worry for one second that she does not recognise him.

"Will!"

"Mum.." And for the moment, nothing more really needed to be said.

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They sat together on the tiny couch in Mrs Cooper's piano room, and talked and talked. Mary didn't say much, only occasionally interrupting to add a key point on elaborate on an event, for the most part, she let Will tell the story.

When the story drew to a close he introduced Kirjava to her, describing her so vividly his mother could almost see her.

Mary saw that she should leave then, and joined Mrs Cooper in the kitchen where she was sitting, happy, albeit perplexed at the reunion.

And then Will took a breath, and turned to face her properly, and his mother could see everything. The trials he had gone through, the pain he had faced, and the sorrow he still carried with him. She saw the tears in those green eyes, so like his father's, that were so close to overflowing and her heart broke for every moment that she had not been there for him.

She took him in her arms and let him cry, rubbing his back gently, and murmuring in his ear that everything was going to be okay. For is that not what we need in these situations? A mother to tell us that everything will be fine. Those well meaning, heartfelt lies that inexplicably make one feel better.

When his tears had exhausted themselves and his breathing had returned to normal, he sat up, still holding tight to her hand.

His mother was so different from before he realised. So much more self assured, so much more... there. He didn't have to ask what had brought about the immense change in his mother's demeanour and personality, for he knew it was his own doing.

In closing the windows has ceased the creation of spectres, ensuring that the fear that had plagued her for so long had now abated. The spectres would bother her no longer. She was free.

This made him realise for the first time that what he had done was worthwhile and would make a difference. And while it did not help much, it lifted a small weight off his mind.

One thing remained however. In the telling of his story he had neglected to mention that which concerned his father. Looking at his mother, her eyes bright with pride and love, he knew he had to tell her the truth.

"I met my father" he said simply.

He eyes widened and she her hand tightened on his. He told her of how they met, how they fought up there on the rocks, how he had healed his hand and, haltingly, how he had died.

She said nothing while he talked, but her hand grew a little tighter on his arm, and he saw, when he was done that her eyes were full of tears.

"I am glad you met him, Will." She said softly. "He would have been so immensely proud of you."

He held her hand, and she held his, and together they mourned the loss of a father and a husband.

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And time did what time does and passed.

They moved back into their old house, with its wooden floors and comforting sameness. The owners had cleared it out, tided up the shabby garden, and were attempting to sell it, but the bank account his father had left for the two of them held more than enough to deal with those sorts of problems.

Will couldn't bring himself to go back to school, back to the company of other children who could not possibly understand the things he had done or seen. So he studied from home, getting his mother to quiz him, and calling a teacher in a nearby city once a week.

He never stopped missing Lyra. Her fierce beauty, her passionate emotions, the way she never did anything by halves, in life and in love.

And he clung desperately onto the words said by Xaphania, of the "other ways of travelling", he clung onto that hope, and it helped to dull the ache in his heart.

Back at the gardens, he had said that being cheerful started "now". But it was so much harder than that.


End file.
